


Autumn Holiday

by orphan_account



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Explicit MM sex, French, Fun, M/M, Magic, chapter 2 is graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Nothing special - Summer Solstice was well received so I brought Lewis and Hathaway over to my village in France for a little of my special magic.</p><p>I couldn't bear James being so unhappy with his religion</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing special - Summer Solstice was well received so I brought Lewis and Hathaway over to my village in France for a little of my special magic.
> 
> I couldn't bear James being so unhappy with his religion

  Agnes had done it again. The village had turned out to greet their guests, the square was full of people, there were tables and benches around the outside, a band was playing and a barbecue crackled in one corner. Women bustled around with trays of food like a well-disciplined platoon and men trooped in and out with wine and beer. Nobody seemed to have organised this but it happened as if a general was issuing orders right, left and centre. There was little doubt as to who the general might be.

The young men, including Manu, her current lover, were tuning up and playing really good, head-banging, foot-stomping music. Just like at the party in Oxford, there was a whiff of magic in the air.

A large lady who was probably called Marie-Something because most of them were Marie-Something, Marie-Therèse, Marie-Ange, Marie-Annick, Marie-Pierre … this particular Marie dumped a couple of glasses in front of them with a wine box and bent to kiss them both. That was the other difficulty – the kissing.

Air kissing was out, that was not an option. When French women (and sometimes men) kissed you, it was a full-contact sport, lips sticking to cheeks, often with bosoms pressed to chests, hands on shoulders, real, genuine affection overflowing - something neither of them had ever experienced in Britain, being adopted into a family like this, just because; just because Agnes is your mate, just because you seem to be family to someone and it doesn’t matter because you can never have too many cousins, can you? And what does it matter anyway, when you are just here for having fun and we can kiss you and hug you and you are someone’s family?

The pronunciation of names had been the cause of great hilarity – James could have been Jam but decided to opt for Jacques and Robbie, accepted the French pronunciation of Robert which sounded like Row-bare, causing his rower lover to snigger quite a lot.

The square was now in semi darkness except for the floodlights and the music throbbed, inviting dance and abandon. Agnes swirled past, swishing her skirts to the Spanish-style music and grabbed Robbie’s hand, twirling him off to an impromptu fandango with her in the middle of the square. James watched, smirking slightly at his lover’s discomfort and at Agnes’ kindness in working around him rather than letting him make a fool of himself.

An old man dropped onto the seat opposite James on the bench and held out his glass. He wore a beret and bent over his walking stick and the floodlights were reflected in his thick glasses. James picked up the wine box and filled the glass. “Here, Granddad,” he said, as he shoved it over to the old man who took it gratefully, raised it and pointed to his throat

“That is “Mon Père” my son” he corrected.

James looked askance – he hadn’t noticed that the old feller was wearing a curé’s cape and neck band – he was a priest or a monk who went out of his monastery.

“Forgive me, Father,” he murmured “I didn’t know. You are an.... Abbé? A Curé?”

He didn’t know much about the denominations in the French church. The old priest didn’t reply immediately. He took another sip of his wine and looked James directly in the eyes then nodded. He started to speak to him in Latin very slowly and clearly. James found that, although he thought his Latin was not that good, he could understand perfectly. With a stab in his heart that he thought would kill him, James heard

“Love is never wrong.”

“So I have heard, my Father.”

“But you didn’t believe it?”

“The man who said that was a sinner. And he caused me to commit the biggest sin of my life perhaps. It may be that I have committed a bigger sin since that.”

The old priest put his hand over the table and patted James’ – it was a very, very old hand, mottled with age-spots and with blue veins writhing all over it.

“Did nobody ever tell you, my Son, that God is Love?”

“Yes, I was told that but, not that kind of love, surely?”

“Love is love, my son. It is different from just giving yourself physically. You know when love is pure. You know when love is right. You know when you give your heart and that God is behind your love. Don’t you?” James swallowed hard and replied

“Yes. I know that.”

“So, you are hurting no one? No, I think not, and Robbie was so lonely and unhappy. Have you ever thought that you might have done a very good thing? If you stand on the hill and look down on the valley you see another view than if you dive in the river and try to see the stars. Think about it my Son.”

The old priest struggled to his feet.

“Try coming to mass here. Our Lady of Renewal is such a very understanding Lady.”

Before James could get to his feet to help him, the old Abbé had tottered away and Robbie was back, panting from his dance with Agnes.

She smiled and sparkled at James, utterly outrageous in her over the top, theatrical eye make-up that made her look slightly demonic but alluring – it was his turn. She didn’t come anywhere near him, holding him at arm’s length and whirling him, gypsy style to eventually wrap him in her arms with her scarf and say

“Easy boy, the magic hasn’t even started yet!” as she deposited him in Robbie’s arms.

2 (See “I woke up in a strange bed” if you like more graphic)

The next day being Sunday, having breakfasted in the open air on pain au chocolate and fresh coffee, James decided he would go to Mass. Nobody apart from Lewis seemed surprised and Agnes offered to go to the nearest town to do the tourist thing, as she expressed it but Robbie decided to go for a long walk by the river instead, being not sure what the hell was going on.

The village church was surprisingly ornate and lavish for such a small place. James dipped his fingers in the holy water, blessed himself, took a prayer book and found his place in the main body of the church and looked around. He recognised most of it, obviously, and found comfort in the familiarity of the statues, the Stations of the Cross, the normality of it all. He even found that he could pray for the first time in a long time.

Slipping into a rush-seated chair from the main aisle, he dropped to his knees and found himself opening up to see if his God were there. James hadn’t taken communion in a long time, not since he had admitted that he was gay and certainly not without confession but something that morning pushed him to join the line of people waiting to kneel at the altar rail. For some reason, his conversation with the old Abbé had served as a confession and he felt at ease, able to ask to be fit to gather up the crumbs …..

As he raised his head to receive the Host he saw the statue of the Virgin Mary over to his left, smiling and comforting him. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt this at one with his religion. When he walked back from the altar rail he saw the old Abbé standing at the back of the church, but he turned and went out when James raised a hand to greet him. James stayed in the church, remembering what the old priest had said the night before, “Our Lady of Renewal is such a very understanding Lady.”

He went to the Lady Chapel and lit a candle in front of the gaudy plaster statue. Kneeling in front of it, he blessed himself again and began to pray as he hadn’t for so long. Tears poured down his face as he let himself say all the bitterness and hatred he had kept in for so long.

Suddenly he realised that he had been given a chance for happiness. Most of his life had been miserable. He had learned from an early age to expect nothing but rigour and sadness but now he could hope for happiness and joy. He raised his eyes to the blue and white head which seemed to nod to him but that could have been his tears and the candle flames.

A hand dropped on his shoulder – he knew it was the old man.

“Ca va, mon fils?”

“Oui, mon père, ça va. Ca va très bien, merci. Merci bien. »

James ran out of the church and down the lane to the river. He ran along the track that led to the weir, he ran with all the energy he hadn’t had for a long time. He ran til he found Robbie leaning over the bridge, looking for fish and he threw himself in his arms.

“It’s OK. It’s all OK. Everything is OK. I love you. Oh God, Robbie, I love you so much and everything is OK now.”

Lewis looked slightly shocked

“Steady, James. What you on?” “Tell me.” Lewis held him and said “Whoa – take a minute – I love you James. Of course I do. But what is your problem?”

3

There was another barbecue for the last night.

James and Manu gigged for over an hour, providing unique music for the assembly before Agnes’ son took over and did a retro disco that left everyone breathless. Agnes had been busy so James was pleased to leave his guitar on the stage and grab her, knowing that Robbie would understand.

The music couldn’t have been more apt. “Nothing’s going to stop us now” He held her close and swung her around as they vamped it up, making a real spectacle for the village. “Oh James, if you weren’t gay,” she trilled. He pressed her tightly to his crotch as he crooned, pivoting her around, “Ooooo all that I need is you” and for a moment he could have believed it. She melded into his body and replied, “All that I ever need” and he could have believed it back, if she hadn’t smiled up at him and he knew that he was bisexual and the hard-on he was starting to feel was a false friend, he loved Robbie.

She swirled him into an alcove.

“Get me a drink, please.”

He came back with two plastic cups of wine which they sipped. “Oh yes, I could, believe me, young as you are,” she smiled. “You’re wondering. Yes - easily, and with no regrets, except that I would break Robbie’s heart. Are you enjoying your holiday?”

It was a silly question but he knew what she was saying.

“Who is he; the old priest?” Agnes took a sip of her drink and shivered slightly. She stood up and wound her arms around James’ neck, pulling him against her, not sexual but sensual. Her lips were close to his ear when she said

“Oh yes, I thought you might see him. He was a lovely man.”

James went cold. “What do you mean ‘was’? Agnes?”

She held him to her, rubbing his back, and he wanted to be left alone, not treated like a child.

“He founded a charity here. He was known as the most compassionate man in the world. You know how Mother Theresa was in India? Well he was like that here? He wouldn’t ever see bad where there was good to be seen, do you understand?” James understood. There was one thing he didn’t understand.

“But, Agnes, he is here. I spoke to him last night, I saw him in the church;;”

“No, darling, he died three years ago but he is buried in our churchyard. Several people have said that they have seen him here, but not you. It was a dream, love ...” James turned on Agnes, slightly scared

“No, I spoke to him. It was real. It seems that there are a lot of dreams happen when you are around, Agnes.”

She couldn’t say anything. It was true. Jean Innocent’s sister was a witch, a real one, but nobody had asked her and she preferred to call herself a Fairy Godmother. She sighed and passed her hand over James face, causing him to go to stone.

“He was here to tell you something real, beloved. Remember what he said, forget where you saw him. Know that your Fairy Godmother loves you. Always remember that. Blessed Be, my heart.”

He only came to when Agnes’ lips left his and wasn’t aware that she had kissed him. “I think Robbie was looking for you”, she said and pointed towards the courtyard. Ah well, she thought, I still have my gypsy. The angel belongs to someone else but I have my gypsy.


	2. Sunday morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more detailed experience in the top bedroom of the chateau. Explicit M/M sex

I woke up in a strange bed and that usually freaks me out. I like things to be normal and organised. I don’t like strange or unusual. The walls around me were nothing like normal; rough stones with enormous wooden beams above and the light streaming in from a very small window behind the bed head.

Robbie was asleep beside me, on his side, slightly curled, snoring gently. I remembered where we were and turned to spoon myself against his back, my arm draped across his waist, not sure if I wanted to wake him up or not.

Oh but this is what I have wanted for years, even if I tried so hard not to want it. I accept now that I can’t keep my faith and be true to myself but this is what I have dreamed of and now it is happening. I have lost my God but I am waking up next to Robbie Lewis, even if it is only for this holiday, even if we still have to be a bit circumspect back home. It really does feel like someone has worked magic for us because I know he feels the same. Finally, after the angst, the jealousy, the bitter disappointment and hopelessness, he’s realised that he loves me too. I never dared hope that he would love me, fancy me maybe if I were really lucky…..

He stirred under me and I bent to kiss the back of his neck, nibbling under his ear and licking behind it, flicking the earlobe with my tongue. He pushed back at me, taking my hand to hold my arm against his chest. He could feel me hardening as I pressed into his back. Trying to free my hand so I could stroke him down his chest, I met resistance.

“No, lad, your turn this morning, I had my fun last night,” he growled as he turned in my arms to face me. He’s shorter than me but chunkier and he could overpower me any time. He tickled me and I became helpless, giggling and wriggling under him. Lying across my chest he looked down into my face and shook his head as if perplexed.

“What the bloody hell do you see in me, James? What did I do right in my life to have you here with me?”

‘Painfully sensitive to kindnesses’ is one of my character traits and I melt when he says things like that. I offered my mouth up to him, as sweet and submissive as a girl so he kissed me, gently as first, just resting his lips on mine then more insistent, probing with his tongue, exploring my lips and then biting gently on my tongue, causing me to gasp and thrust up with my hips as I felt my balls filling up, hardening, wanting.

Still being both relative novices at sex like this, we’ve avoided anything but hands and mouths to avoid the risk of hurting the other but even that is pretty spectacular. Still kissing me, Robbie ran his hands across my chest, brushing my nipples and causing me to moan, writhe and beg him to continue. His hands went further, stroking my belly, running his nails across my flesh til I squealed with pleasure and then he was holding me in his hand, firmly but gently.

I still sometimes think I will never get used to this, another man doing to me what I’d only ever done to myself in the past except for my futile forays into relations with women. A man knows how to do it so much better than a woman, unless she is a professional, I suppose, but having done it to himself, a man knows how to make another man really scream with pleasure. Well Robbie does, anyway.

Just at the last moment, when I was quivering from head to toe, when I was on the point of coming, he swooped on me and took me in his mouth, sucking all the life from me, taking all I could give, the end of my cock touching the back of his throat as my hips bucked and writhed. He sucked until I was completely spent and then gently caressed my wilting dick, smiled down at me and whispered,

“Happy, sunshine?”

Happy doesn’t come within miles of how I felt at that moment, so I pulled his head down on my chest and held him tight, too full of emotion to speak for fear of weeping with joy. He pushed up again and stroked my cheek, shaking his head, probably wondering what he should do with me. I know he sees me as a slightly damaged piece of Dresden china but he doesn’t know how fierce I would be if I had to defend him or thought I was losing him. Sometimes he seems to pick up on my thoughts because he ran a hand over my hair and said softly

“I’ll never leave you, pet. Not now, not after all this, I couldn’t. But I really could use some real breakfast, something a bit more substantial” We started giggling and pushed each other away so we could go and eat.


End file.
